I drove over to Sisteron early on Friday afternoon, deciding to forego watching what I was sure would be yet another Mark Cavendish sprint fest in the Giro. More importantly, I wanted to pick up my number that afternoon and check out the start of the course.
The temperature rose steadily as I drove inland and the air was hot, heavy and humid. Indeed, there were several small downpours which I hoped were not indicative of the forecast for the following day, but indeed they were. Having checked into my hotel on the outskirts of town, I drove into Sisteron to collect my number and check out the course in more detail.
I was undecided which course to ride but given that the route was common to both up until the first feed zone, felt there was no need to make a decision just yet. On the longer orange route, the climb up the Mont de Lure looked worryingly steep and, although I had checked it out on the map, could discern neither its length nor its gradient.
A local told me it was around 7% average. In itself not a problem, the issue was that it came after about 100km. This is generally the point in any ride where I am looking forward to descending rather than further ascending.
The following morning, the hotel was full of riders enjoying a hearty breakfast. Everyone else was in groups of twos, three or fours. I was the only “Billy-no-clubmates”. I rode to the start, arriving in plenty of time to greet fellow riders from a number of clubs local to me and see Lucien Aimar and Stephen Roche who, having instigated the event and designed the routes, were also taking part. That was of course the last I saw them. Still, I can legitimately claim to have ridden with two ex-Tour de France winners.
The cyclosportif riders were due to set off ten minutes ahead of the randonneurs: an excellent arrangement. I was in no hurry, I already knew that the course quickly wound up from the Town Hall, went round the back of the town and up a narrow, steep hill before bursting into the surrounding countryside. Consequently, most of the randonneurs had to walk up the hill, in a scene reminiscent of some of the cobbled Classics, much to the bemusement of a number of horses who were eyeing the ungainly procession from an adjoining field.
I was soon dodging support vehicles, no drafting necessary, and making my way up the back of the field. The roads were quiet, the marshalling impressive, the crowds appreciative and the countryside was lush and verdant, bejewelled with wild flowers, after all the recent rainfall.
I took stock, and a decision, at the first feed zone electing to ride the shorter course: with hindsight, a wise decision. Freed from the necessity to hold something back for the monster climb, I could now throw caution to the wind and give it my all.
I finished in a respectable time, behind Messrs Aimar and Roche, 10th in my class and far from last. Eschewing the post-race feed zone, I dropped off my timing device, rode back to the hotel, sunk a couple of cokes and drove home.
Postscript Tuesday: I went onto the La Sisteronne web site today to print off my certificate (very hi-tech) and discovered that there were no fewer than 18 photographs of me! Given that the camera adds 10lbs (5kgs), looking at the photos, I have to ask just how many cameras did they have trained on my person? Answer, far too many. The photographs were taken by a German company called Sportograf for whom I have a heartfelt message: Wenn Sie mich eine Fotographie kaufen wünschen, benutzen Sie bitte das Kamera das mir dünner, nicht fetter zu sein macht!